Heller's Punishment (8 page)

Unprofessional jerk
, I judged, slamming the divider closed.
I flopped back on my seat, checking on Felicia – still asleep. Then
I spent the next hour looking out the window at the city’s
sprawling ugly outskirts, yawning in boredom.

About thirty
minutes later, Felicia woke up suddenly. “I need to pee. Now,” she
said.

I rammed open
the divider and barked an order for the driver to pull over
immediately. He quickly managed to find a grassy verge, worried
about vomit on the upholstery. I pulled her from the car and guided
her away from the busy road to a modicum of privacy behind some
woody shrubs. She squatted, hauling up her skirt and relieving
herself in a huge gush, pissing all over her panties, feet and
shoes in the process.

My shoulders
slumped and I threw my head towards the heavens. Sometimes, despite
my very generous salary, I truly believed that Heller didn’t pay me
enough for what I had to endure during my work. I unhooked the now
disgusting sandals off her feet by their back straps and when she
wasn’t looking, threw them in the bushes. I helped her out of her
soiled panties and gave them the same treatment as the shoes.

Sorry
environment
, I thought with much guilt, and silently promised
to plant twenty trees somewhere to make up for it. Not at the
Warehouse though – it didn’t really have any yard.

I begged a
small traveller’s box of tissues from the surly driver, who’d taken
the opportunity to crank up the stereo again. I was getting twitchy
listening to that music again and swabbed at Felicia’s feet with
some tissues. She let out another stream of urine all over my hand.
I glared at her.

“Any more leaks
coming, sweetheart?” I asked her coldly. She looked at me blankly
and fell over onto her back, sprawled indecently, asleep again. I
used the whole box of tissues mopping up my hand, her feet, legs
and private parts. I pulled her up and forced her back into the
limo with little sympathy or gentleness. I directed the driver to
pop the boot and rummaged in my toiletry bag for the small
container of no-water, no-soap antibacterial cleaner that I always
carried with me. I plopped a generous blob on my palm and scrubbed
both hands vigorously to remove any pee germs. I didn’t want any
diseases from Felicia. Afterwards I slammed the boot shut with
unnecessary violence and threw myself into the back seat.

“Go!” I yelled
at the driver. “And turn that fucking music down!”

He twisted in
his seat to look at me with surprise, ready to argue the point. But
when he noticed my face, he shut the divider himself, turning down
the stereo until I couldn’t hear it, pulling out gently into the
traffic. I fumed in silence until we finally reached our
destination.
Heller definitely did not pay me enough to be
pissed on by junkies
, I thought angrily.

The rehab
clinic was an attractive and grand old building, possibly once a
hotel, painted in lemon yellow with crisp white trims. It had
probably been built in the Victorian era, the days when wealthy
families used to travel to the mountains in the height of summer to
escape the rancid city streets in the clean, cooler mountain
air.

The limo
crunched up the semi-circular gravel drive, stopping in front of
the ornate portico jutting out from the front of the clinic. The
driver didn’t even bother to get out and open the doors for us,
just popped the boot and remained in his seat.

“Thanks
so
much for your assistance. You’re a real gentleman,” I
said, my voice dripping with caustic sarcasm as I opened my
door.

He ignored me
and turned the stereo up to ear-bleeding volume. I went to the boot
and hauled out our two bags, taking them to the first step of the
portico, then returned to the limo and opened Felicia’s door. She
had roused herself when the limo stopped moving and sat in her seat
blinking groggily. I could see the driver’s eyes goggling in the
rear view mirror when he caught a glimpse of her panty-less
privates as she struggled to step out of the back seat in her
miniskirt. A dirty smile crossed his face.

I rapped on his
window, startling him. He wound it down and I smiled less than
sweetly at him.

“Keep your eyes
to yourself, you filthy pervert,” I suggested helpfully.

He gave me the
finger and the second that Felicia was out of the limo and I shut
the door, he screeched off down the drive, showering us in gravel
flicked up by his tyres. I watched him travel down the drive, where
he jauntily flipped me off out of the window again, before
fishtailing out into the street and disappearing from view. I
sincerely hoped we didn’t get him again for the return journey in a
week’s time.

“Come on,” I
said to Felicia and took her arm, leading her towards the front
stairs. She pulled her miniskirt down, noticed something amiss and
shot me a contemptuous look.

“Did you fuck
me when I was asleep?” she demanded in a hostile voice. “I don’t do
tricks for free, you know.”

“No, I bloody
well didn’t!” I exploded, disgusted by the accusation. Even if I
was a lesbian, she was the last woman on earth I would have
shagged. I would never be attracted to a skank like her under any
circumstances.

“Where are my
knickers then? I was wearing them when I got into the car.” Still
hostile.

“You pissed on
them and I threw them away. Don’t you remember?” I was fairly
hostile myself by then.

“No,” she said
sullenly. “Where are my shoes?”

“You pissed on
them too so I threw them away as well.”

“Bitch! My
boyfriend bought me those for my birthday. You’re going to buy me
another pair. I fucking loved those shoes. They got me attention
from the punters.”

“Well, if you
loved them so much, you shouldn’t have pissed on them, should you?
I’m not here to clean up after your little accidents.”

“I don’t like
you. You’re a fucking cow.”

“I’m not here
to be loved either, so bring on the hating, sister. I’ve heard it
all before,” I snapped and picked up both our bags, nudging her up
the stairs towards the ornate, double glass and timber doors. When
I moved the shiny brass door handle, I realised that the doors were
locked, then noticed the intercom to the right of the door. I
pressed on the buzzer.

“Mountain View
Clinic. Glenda speaking,” said an eerie, electronic female voice
from the speaker. “How may I help you?”

“Hi Glenda. My
name’s Tilly Chalmers and I’ve brought Felicia Heyne for the week,”
I replied, spelling out her name carefully.

“Jorge will be
there in a moment to show you in.”

“Thanks.” As we
waited for Jorge, Felicia stared at me.

“Wouldn’t you
want to fuck me?” she asked, now sounding hurt.

“No Felicia, I
wouldn’t,” I said gently, suddenly realising that her whole current
fragile self-worth was centred on her ability to pull in customers.
So I lied, shrugging apologetically. “I’m not attracted to women.
I’m sorry. But you’re very beautiful and if I did swing that way,
I’m sure you’d be first on my list.”

“Oh, okay. No
sweat. We’re cool,” she said, friendly again. “I bet you’d love my
boyfriend though. He is hot! God, I just want to fuck him all day
long.” I smiled briefly at her devotion to her pimping boyfriend.
Then she spoiled it again. “Cause if I do, he’ll give me more junk.
And I really need it.”

“You have to
stop thinking about it, Felicia. You’re here for rehab, remember?
No heroin, not anymore. You’re better than that.”

I didn’t know
if she heard me, but I decided to keep up a positive no-drugs
patter while we were together. It might encourage her or it might
piss her off, I didn’t know. But it was difficult to look at a
nineteen-year-old woman and not care that she was throwing her life
away on a needle and a sleazy pimp who’d probably never done an
honest day’s work in his life. No wonder her parents were so
despairing and had given her so many chances.

One door of the
double doors opened and Jorge stuck out his head. He was gigantic,
brown-skinned, mid-forties, completely bald with curiously
baby-faced features, chewing gum. He was wearing a generic uniform
of white smock and white pants, his nametag the only interesting
feature. I wasn’t sure if he was an orderly, a porter, a nurse, a
doctor or a counsellor. I greeted him politely and introduced
Felicia to him.

He gave her a
professional once-over. “Hello, Felicia,” he said, in a slightly
accented voice.

“Hi Jorge,” she
replied easily.

“What have you
been up to since I saw you last?”

“This ‘n’
that.”

“Looks like
more
that
than
this
,” he said, and laughed
uproariously at his own joke. She tittered as an accompaniment. I
stood uncomfortably, not getting it.

“I’m Tilly
Chalmers. I’ll be staying with Felicia for the week.”

“Oh yeah?” He
looked at me with sensuous, heavy-lidded brown eyes, then turned
back to Felicia. “Have a companion now, huh?”

“You know my
folks,” she replied in a flip tone and shrugged one bony shoulder.
“Can’t leave me alone for a second.”

“That’s the
truth,” he said. “Got a real nice room for you both, ladies. Follow
me.”

He didn’t pick
up our luggage, so I ruled out him being a porter, hauling my bag
onto my shoulder and handing Felicia hers.
It was about time she
started pulling her own weight
, I thought. She shot me an
unimpressed look, but obediently shouldered her bag, struggling
with it as if it contained a tonne of bricks. I rolled my eyes in
disbelief. She couldn’t possibly be that lame-arsed, could she? She
staggered off behind Jorge and I realised that, yes, she really
could be that weak and pathetic. That was enough to turn me off
drugs for life, not that I’d ever had any interest in them in the
first place.

We followed
Jorge for a while, into a lift, up a few stories, then through a
rabbit warren of corridors and steps. We stepped down five steps,
then a few metres later stepped up three steps. What the hell had
the architects been thinking to design that? Felicia started
sweating badly carrying her load, so I took it off her shoulder
(receiving no thanks at all), and kept following Jorge. When he
stopped and fumbled with a lock on a door, I studied the
fire-escape plan pinned to the wall near our room. I’d been
involved in a fire not that long ago and wasn’t keen to tangle with
the orange and red flames again anytime soon.

He finally
managed to open the door and we trailed him into the room. I
dropped the bags in surprise when I viewed the magnificent panorama
from the windows. I pressed my face against the glass of one and
exclaimed in happiness when I saw the ancient, wonderful mountains
and the glorious vista spread in front of us.

“Oh Jorge. It’s
so beautiful!” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

He smiled at me
delightedly, less pleased when Felicia didn’t even spare it a
glance, shrugging off her Elmo jacket and carelessly discarding it
on the floor. The old and fresh scarring of needle tracks showed
purple on her pale inner arms. She headed straight for the bathroom
with her bag. I hoped she was replacing her missing panties. Then I
had a sudden and unsettling thought. God, I hoped she didn’t have
any drugs in her bag. I’d stupidly neglected to inspect it, taking
her word for its contents, despite her father’s repeated warnings
to me not to trust her.

Fortunately,
Jorge was much more used to dealing with addicts than I was.

“Felicia,” he
called out stridently. She paused mid-step. “You know what comes
first.” She turned with bad temper and threw her bag on the nearest
bed.

Jorge took her
bag apart, pulling out every item, examining it carefully, then
placing it into one of two piles. After it was empty, he then
thoroughly scrutinised the bag itself, testing its seams, feeling
around for any hidden compartments, putting the items from the
smallest pile into it, before throwing it near the door. Then he
turned to Felicia herself.

“Careful,
Jorge. I don’t have any panties on,” she said in a revoltingly
suggestive voice. He cringed for a microsecond, so fast that she
didn’t notice, but I did. I decided then that Jorge was okay by
me.

“Sorry,
gorgeous. I’m so tempted, you know that. I haven’t had a good screw
for ages, but rules are rules and I’m just the staff. I don’t want
to get fired,” he fobbed her off professionally, without hurting
her feelings or making her feel bad about herself. I liked him even
more then.

He patted her
down thoroughly, and she shimmied in pretend ecstasy as he quickly
touched around her private parts.

“You’re so hot,
baby. I want you so bad,” he said mechanically, not even breaking
his concentration as he searched for anything illicit. She was
clean and he smiled at her, giving her permission to visit the
bathroom, before turning his attention to me.

“No way!” I
protested as he headed in my direction.

He stared down
at me. “Sorry Tilly. Rules really are rules here and I can’t even
take the slightest chance that she’ll be using while she’s here.
We’ve failed with her twice before,
and
we’re one of the
best rehab clinics in the country.”

“Jorge,” I
protested again as he spilled the contents of my bag on the other
bed, deftly sorting them into two piles. I wouldn’t have thought
that I’d packed anything contraband, but apparently he thought
differently, putting my electronic tablet, expensive makeup,
jewellery, hair and skin products to one side. He gave my capsicum
spray an especial eyeball, quickly followed by my little black
dress and high heels.

“Jorge! All
those too? Really?”

“Tilly, you’re
not going to need those things here. We provide all your toiletries
and needs and we don’t socialise after hours. There’s no shindigs
or nightly group gatherings here. All our clients are safely locked
away in their rooms, hopefully exhausted, by ten o’clock each
night. We’re trying to break them of their late-night bad
habits.”